


The way the blue lights were shining

by MioceneApe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MioceneApe/pseuds/MioceneApe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are probably a few people in the world that would be able to sit calmly in the back of a police cruiser with Captain America while four cops who looked like they hadn’t arrested an actual criminal in quite some time stood around outside debating their fate at length, but Darcy Lewis was not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been a fic reader for more than half of my life, but I've never felt the need to write my own until now. This is my first attempt (please don't run away yet). It was inspired by Keith Urban's song "Cop Car" and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it all down.

There are probably a few people in the world that would be able to sit calmly in the back of a police cruiser with Captain America while four cops who looked like they hadn’t arrested an actual criminal in quite some time stood around outside debating their fate at length, but Darcy Lewis was not one of them.

“Ugh,” she huffed, slumping farther down on the cracked vinyl of the cop car’s back seats and propping a foot up on the driver’s seat. “I can’t believe we got picked up by the man.”

The back seat’s other occupant raised an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You do know that you work for the government, right?”

“I am aware of that fact, yes, I’m just saying it’s pretty bush league to get picked up by some small town donut munchers when you work for a top-secret spy organization. They didn’t even follow proper arrest procedure.” Darcy sighed, “Natasha is not going to be impressed.”

Steve tipped his head back against the head rest. “It’s not that bad. SHIELD will be along soon to pick us up and clear up the misunderstanding.”

“Seriously? The Man with the Plan is content to sit tight and wait for someone else to deal with the problem? Just want to remind you, I was all for making a run for it. None of the other probationary agents have stories nearly as good as doing something illegal with an Avenger,” Darcy said, recognizing the potential for innuendo there, but choosing not to pursue it (for once in her life). 

“Captain America trespassing and running from the police? I can just see the press having a field day with that one,” Steve replied. “Tony would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Well what are we going to do if they actually make up their minds about taking us into town and SHIELD shows up and we’re not here? We made it out to the rendezvous point pretty early,” Darcy continued.

Steve shrugged, only half listening. He wasn’t actually that concerned about getting arrested; SHIELD had created a solid cover for him, in the event that his name and fingerprints were ever run through a police database. He was more distracted by the thought that, had the cops not shown up, he would’ve gotten to spend a few uninterrupted hours with Darcy, sitting in the back of a pickup truck under a gorgeously starry sky in the middle of nowhere Idaho. 

He’d been pretty taken with her from the first time they’d literally run into each other in the Tower. They’d both been in a hurry to get to a meeting (the same meeting, it had turned out), and even in their rush to gather up all of the dropped files (his: paper, hers: multiple StarkPads) she’d snagged his right bicep in one small, strong hand, given it a little squeeze and remarked that “they just don’t make them like they used to.” He’d dropped his head and blushed a little, looking up again just as Darcy tossed a quick “thanks, Cap” over her shoulder before heading into the conference room. He’d been unable to keep his eyes off of her in the briefing that followed and was gratified to learn she was as quick to grasp the essential issues of the proposed plan as she had been in laughing off their collision. After that, he’d always made a point of chatting with her whenever they’d seen each other (which was fairly often, given the duties of her job), but she forever seemed to be running off somewhere, StarkPads at the ready, and they never really got past small talk and pleasantries. Steve was starting to feel like maybe that was the point.

He glanced over to his left at Darcy, the artist in him noticing what the blue lights from the second cop car were doing to her eyes. She was still complaining that the cops hadn’t even really given them a chance to explain why they were in the middle of some farmer’s field before cuffing them and tossing them into the back of the cruiser, and bouncing the foot that she’d propped against the driver’s seat earlier.

“You look good in blue,” Steve said, interrupting her rant and earning himself a startled look in return.

“Blue?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, surprised that he’d actually said it out loud. “I just mean, the blue lights make your eyes even bluer.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear: police custody looks good on her,” Darcy snarked back automatically. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve responded, forehead ticking down in a slight frown.

Darcy turned her head to look out the window at the officers, now standing around and smoking cigarettes, so she wouldn’t have to see the disappointed look on his face. Being flippant wasn’t her most attractive trait and she recognized that, but she was genuinely nervous at her close proximity to one of the best-looking and most interesting men she’d ever met. Most of their previous interactions had been relatively short (intentionally so on her part) and she was pretty curious about him, but she never knew quite what to say. How do you start up a conversation with someone when most of what you knew about them came from your high school American History textbook? It was like the academic version of Facebook stalking and she didn’t want to make it sound like she’d read up on him beforehand. And now with the two of them getting arrested and all, she was mostly doing her level best not to dwell on any fantasies that she may have had involving Captain America and handcuffs.

Darcy had been dubious about this mission from the start, not entirely sure why Captain America needed to be the backup for a scientist-wrangler/SHIELD agent-in-training on what was really a glorified get in, get out, liberate (because she couldn’t even think about Steve in the context of stealing) some data, and don’t get caught scenario. She also wasn’t sure her America-sized, but very well hidden, crush on the First Avenger could survive it, particularly if the uniform was involved (it wasn’t). She still wasn’t sure whether she should be disappointed about that. And she’d never gotten more than a vague explanation about the whole situation.

What Darcy didn’t know was that Steve had volunteered to go along as the training operative when he heard that she’d had been picked for this exercise. He’d earned himself the merest twitch of an eyebrow from Natasha for it, but, given that everyone else had been out of town at the time and none of them had said anything about it when they’d gotten back, he assumed she’d kept her own counsel. Now, he was seriously reconsidering whether the whole thing had been a good idea. He’d known that they could complete the exercise in less time than they’d been allotted and he’d been counting on using the rest to just get to know her better while they waited for the SHIELD transport, but they’d hardly been waiting for fifteen minutes before the cops pulled up. 

She’d been stretched out in the bed of the pickup, lying on her back and looking up at the sky. Steve had been sitting on the tailgate, leaning against the side of the truck bed, trying to get up the courage to ask her…something, anything really, to start a conversation. He hadn’t figured out what yet. As bad as he was with women, he’d realized that if he wanted to have anything resembling a normal life (or a shot with a dame like Darcy Lewis), he had to take some chances. Before he’d decided on the best approach (tactician that he was), Darcy had tipped her head back and hummed contentedly.

“What are you doing?” He’d asked, realizing as he said it that he probably could’ve come up with something less judgmental-sounding, and kicking himself a little for it.

“Looking for Thor,” Darcy had replied, smiling, at which point the cops had shown up and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Steve chuckled softly to himself, thinking about how she’d tried to sweet-talk the cops, saying they were just looking for somewhere to stargaze and giving Steve an exaggerated wink. He’d tried to make an appropriately smug face, but the officers hadn’t been amused, giving Darcy a stern warning about trespassing before cuffing them both. Her next move had been yelling about her rights being violated. Steve had appreciated her feistiness. The cops had not. Maybe it wasn’t such a mystery why they were taking their time heading back to the station, leaving Steve and Darcy to stew in the back seat. 

“What’s so funny?” Darcy asked, pulling Steve’s focus back to their current predicament.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve said. 

“Shoot.”

“You’re pretty talkative with nearly everyone else on the Avengers/SHIELD team, but as soon as I show up, you can’t seem to get away fast enough. Is it something I did?” This possibility had been lurking in the back of his mind during their last several encounters and even though he always tried to be a gentleman, he knew that his social skills were about 70 years out of date. What were common courtesies in his time, things like holding the door for a woman, were not always appreciated now and he was concerned that he’d made an inadvertent misstep.

Darcy sighed a little and decided to opt for (possibly tactless) honesty. “Man, you’re like Santa Claus. You’re half-frozen, semi-mythical, and I feel like you’re just so NICE all the time. Like, you know if I’ve been bad or good and you’re going to make that disappointed face when you overhear me bitching about Kristen from Statistics or something.” 

Steve took a moment to process that admission and asked, “Are you calling me old?” 

Darcy burst out laughing, “Really?! I drop a mini-truth bomb about how I’m scared that you’re going to judge me for being, well, me, and all you take away from it was the literal Santa Claus part?”

Steve gave her a winning smile, with just a hint of underlying smugness. People always seemed to be underestimating his sarcasm and snark-appreciation capabilities. He actually kind of liked it; it made playing clueless and innocent easier than it had ever been in his own time. 

“Darcy, I’m not a saint. You’re allowed to dislike Kristen from Statistics and I’m not going to think less of you. She’s kind of…assertive.” By assertive, he really meant that she was always trying to assert her way into his personal space. If he’d realized how possessive she was going to get after one single (not to be repeated) date, he never would’ve gotten coffee with her to begin with. “I actually really appreciate the way you speak your mind, I just wish you felt more comfortable speaking it to me.”

“She tried to corner you under the mistletoe at the SHIELD Christmas party, didn’t she?” Darcy said, with a knowing smirk, trying not to show how pleased she was by Steve’s compliment.

“How’d you know?” That had not been one of Steve’s favorite 21st century moments. It had taken the combined help of both Nat and Clint, solemnly sworn to secrecy (not to tell Tony, mostly), and a passing waiter with a tray of champagne to successfully escape being herded into the secluded nook to the left of the Christmas tree. He’d made it his New Year’s resolution to learn how to submit his mission data via the department’s impenetrable electronic filing system, just so he wouldn’t have to perform evasive maneuvers every time he had paperwork due on their floor.

“She mentioned her ‘master plan’ to everyone within earshot after the two of you got coffee,” Darcy replied.

“And you didn’t warn me?” Steve asked, only half-feigning horror.

Darcy shrugged, “Hey man, you’re the one who got coffee with her. I figured you were either into it, or, as a bona fide superhero, you’d find a way to escape. It didn’t seem like my place to meddle and it’s not like we were more than acquaintances.” 

“And now?” Steve asked, hopefully.

“Now I might call you a friend. I only get arrested with the best, you know,” Darcy replied, smiling.

Steve had just opened his mouth to ask if friends could ask friends to get drinks together sometime, but was cut off by the sound of Quinjet engines swiveling around to finish their descent to the ground.

Darcy popped up out of her slouch (and when they had started scooting imperceptibly closer together on the bench seat, she had no idea) and turned to look out the window at the now stunned cops.

She crowed a little at the looks on their faces, “Guess they never saw that one coming! I hope they’ve still got some time on their hands; that non-disclosure paperwork takes forever, suckers.”

Steve was still grinning when he realized that the people getting out of the Quinjet weren’t the typical low-level agents usually sent to pick up operatives after missions like this. He’d assumed that Natasha hadn’t mentioned his sudden desire to brush up on standard training exercise protocol to any of the other Avengers, but, given that Clint was headed toward the cruiser with a gleeful look on his face and his phone in hand, he’d clearly underestimated her restraint (at least as far as mildly embarrassing him was concerned). 

Natasha strode over to the officers, armed with a thick sheaf of documents and her least impressed face, brandishing faux CIA credentials. They were far enough away that the car window muffled most of what she said to them, but Steve could clearly see their abjectly apologetic facial expressions. He almost felt a little sorry for them, but watching Natasha at work (even non-fatal work) was always a pleasure. 

Leaving the cops to their piles of paperwork, Natasha joined Clint at the window. 

“Remember Paris?” Clint asked, nudging her with his elbow and gesturing toward the car with his chin.

“How could I forget? I never did understand how you managed to get the bear into the cop car to begin with,” Natasha replied.

“A true showman never reveals his secrets,” Clint said, snapping a few shots of Steve giving him the stink-eye.

“Can you just let us out?” Steve called through the closed window. 

“Seriously,” Darcy added, sliding closer to Steve and leaning across his lap to look out at Natasha and Clint. 

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look. Darcy gave the super spies her best pleading face. Steve inhaled a face-full of the subtly fruity scent of Darcy’s shampoo and tried not to focus on the way her thigh felt pressed against the side of his.

“Just one more, for posterity. We have to properly memorialize Cap’s first arrest. Say cheese,” said Clint.

Darcy wrapped her arm around Steve’s shoulders (the one non-dickhead thing the officers had done was removing the cuffs once they were ensconced in the backseat) and pasted on a surprisingly sincere, all things considered, grin. Steve put his arm around her waist, pulling her in a little further and complying with Clint’s request. He could feel her fingers flexing slightly against the muscles of his shoulder and took the opportunity to slide his hand down to her hip. Darcy gave a brief internal fist pump of victory. She knew her curves were killer and she was more than happy to let Steve cop a chaste feel.

“Precious,” Clint said, and then Natasha was opening the door, setting them free.

Steve slid out, turning to offer Darcy a helping hand. She accepted, fully intending to make a graceful exit from the car, but ending up clinging with both hands and hopping a little when she discovered that her foot had fallen asleep.

“You okay?” Steve asked, a bit concerned and amused.

“Uh huh,” Darcy replied, rolling her ankle around and trying to wiggle her toes in her shoes. And, let’s be honest, hanging on to Steve’s hand for as long as possible. What else could she do? The man had great hands and she was feeling encouraged by their chat in the car. 

“All right, you two jailbirds, let’s get going,” Clint said, trying to herd them toward the Quinjet. Darcy reluctantly let go of Steve’s hand and he tried to keep the disappointed look from his face.

Natasha walked back toward the officers to collect their paperwork, while Darcy, Steve, and Clint boarded the plane and strapped themselves in.

“You should get started on your mission write-up, Darcy,” Clint said, passing her a StarkPad and smirking. “I have a feeling this debrief is going to be a good one. I’m especially interested in hearing how you got Cap arrested.”

Darcy accepted the tablet with a sigh and made a face at Clint. As the probationary agent on this little exercise, filling out all the after-action reports fell to her. She glanced over at Steve, but he was looking out the window with his head propped on his hand; so much for help from that quarter. She bent her head over the StarkPad, resigned to her fate.

The flight was relatively short (Natasha flying the Quinjet was always a harrowing experience) and the debriefing afterward was totally standard. Darcy presented the results of the exercise, neatly skirting around its somewhat humiliating conclusion (it being totally irrelevant to the actual purpose of the mission, she told herself silently), and escaped immediately afterward to take a shower. She was a bit of a nervous sweater and being stuck in the backseat of a car with Steve Rogers for a couple of hours had definitely left her feeling sticky. After witnessing her quick exit from the conference room, Steve sat back down in his chair and tried to figure out his next move.

“Steve,” he looked up to find Clint giving him a look, “just ask her out. It’s not invading Europe, it’s dinner. “

Later that night, when she’d washed off the embarrassment of the day and settled down in her bed to creep Tumblr, Darcy’s phone buzzed on her nightstand. She scooped it up to find that she’d been sent the photo Clint took of her and Steve, and a text proposing dinner, “assuming, of course, that you don’t have any more run-ins with the law before then.” 

She said yes, of course.


	2. Bringing out the freedom in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with bonus coda! Steve plans the invasion of Europe, by which I mean, he takes Darcy out to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who read, commented, or left kudos! I never intended this as anything but a one-shot, but StarkidDreamer asked for another chapter and this seemed like the next logical step. (Seeing the Winter Solider over the weekend probably didn't hurt, either. No real spoilers though, don't worry.)

Steve called Darcy on Thursday night to give her the details of their date. He’d wanted to call earlier in the week, but minor avenging took precedence over arranging his personal life (he was not as good a multitasker as Natasha was). 

“He is a man who understands that you need to know ahead of time if you have to wear pants!” Darcy gushed over the phone to Jane, admiring the polish job (classic red) she’d just finished on her toes. 

“You weren’t planning on wearing pants on your date?” Jane asked, in an amused tone. 

“Too forward? But seriously, realizing that advanced notice of being picked up on his motorcycle is crucial to my pre-date preparations is thoughtful!” Darcy said. 

Jane just hummed in agreement. 

\--

Steve pulled his motorcycle up to the curb in front of Darcy’s Brooklyn apartment at precisely 7 o’clock the following evening, dismounted, and buzzed her apartment. She scrambled down two flights of stairs, stopped on the final landing to compose herself, and then gave her best strut down to the ground floor, where Steve was waiting to meet her at the door. She’d opted to go for a fairly restrained, but still sexy, date ensemble of black skinny pants, cobalt blue tank, and peep-toe booties, topped off with a little leather jacket. 

“That color looks great on you. It brings out your eyes,” Steve said.

“That’s either your only line or you really like a girl in blue,” Darcy said, smiling.

“It’s the truth,” Steve replied.

“Which part?” Darcy asked.

“Both,” he said, with a cheeky grin, handing her his helmet.

“No helmet for you?” Darcy said.

“I’m pretty durable and the restaurant’s not far,” Steve responded.

“Ooh, rebellious. Very James Dean,” Darcy said, buckling the helmet’s strap under her chin.

“I’ll have to put him on my list,” Steve replied, getting back on the bike. “Hold on tight,” he said, after Darcy had gotten on behind him and wrapped her arms somewhat tentatively around his waist. 

“List?” was all she managed to get out before Steve hit the gas and then she had her hands full, clinging to Steve’s back (and covertly attempting to grope his abs). 

\--

They pulled up in front of a little Italian restaurant that looked like it had been there forever. Darcy said as much, while attempting to subtly fluff some life back into her flattened hair. 

“I’m not sure if being around since 1936 qualifies as ‘forever,’ but I am pretty sure you’re calling me old again,” Steve said, offering her his arm. 

They entered the restaurant and Steve gave his name to the hostess, who immediately called out in Italian to an older man sitting by the front windows drinking a small glass of red wine.

“Amico mio! It is nice to see you again, and with such a lovely young lady!” The old man said, getting up and clasping Steve’s hand warmly. 

“It’s good to see you too, Giuseppe,” Steve responded, before introducing Darcy.

“Steve was a friend of my father’s,” Giuseppe explained, “and now he comes by to make sure we’re not changing Nonna’s recipes.”

Steve laughed, “I’m sure everything will be just like Mrs. Antonelli used to make.”

“Your table is ready now,” said the hostess. 

“I will seat you myself!” declared Giuseppe, leading them to their table.

When they were seated and Giuseppe had produced a bottle of red wine for the table, Darcy leaned forward and said, “You mentioned something about a list?” 

Steve produced the list, handing it across the table. She read through it, nodding approvingly at a number of the things on it (Star Wars, the moon landing), and finally looking up at him with a quizzical face.

“Disco?” 

“Fury put that on there,” he explained. 

She laughed, pulling a pen out of her purse and scribbling ‘James Dean (Rebel Without a Cause)’ onto the next open line. 

\--

They left the restaurant and paused for a second on the sidewalk, Steve fiddling with a twisted strap on the helmet. 

“Let me see your list again?” Darcy asked. 

Steve pulled it out of his pocket and offered it to her. She took it, flipped to the last page, added ‘(Date #2)’ after ‘Thai Food,’ and handed it back.

Steve read it, smiled, and said, “Oh yeah?”

“Definitely,” Darcy responded, smiling back at him.

They got back on the bike, Darcy wrapping her arms around him contentedly. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her on the sidewalk and had a strong feeling that a kiss goodnight was in her future, she just had to make it back there without falling off. 

\-- 

They’d almost made it back to Darcy’s apartment when she heard the chirp of a siren and saw blue lights flashing in Steve’s side mirrors. She sighed, tipping her head forward to rest against Steve’s back. 

“Here we go again.”


End file.
